


hands over our hearts (built our own house)

by midwestwind



Series: Tumblr Prompts [8]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Moving In Together, Prompt Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 11:46:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6802480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midwestwind/pseuds/midwestwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: "Killian begins moving things from the Jolly into the house."</p>
            </blockquote>





	hands over our hearts (built our own house)

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write something and the lovely bluestoplights prompted me this. It took a turn from where I'd intended but I hope you all enjoy it!!

 

He can tell Emma doesn’t quite expect it. He drags her down to the docks once it’s over and as calm as Storybrooke will ever be. Killian had held her to her promise to sleep. He’d holed up with her for two days in their home while they allowed themselves the luxury of sleep, dragged their hands over each other’s skin in the quiet moments between and remapped the shape of one another.

 

It had been nearly idyllic. Domestic. Fairytale, if you will.

 

Killian isn’t foolish enough to think this won’t mean something, to both himself and Emma. The thing about their home is that Emma had furnished it, magically, entirely by herself. He’s hardly complaining, he’d picked the house after all and the little details are somehow a wonderful mix of the two of them. Killian’s only known two homes in his life - his ship and Emma Swan. He’s willing to take the chance of adding a third to the list.

 

If it means scratching off one of the aforementioned, allowing his ship to return to just that rather than the home he built himself out of his grief. Well, he’s damn well going to take his chances on the house with the ocean view and the woman he loves.

 

“You don’t have to do this,” Emma insists once she realizes what he’s up to. He didn’t say it aloud, wanted her to come to the conclusion and realize the decision he’d made for her, for their future. She grabs his hand where he’s moving things that he’d like to keep nearby onto the desk in his cabin.

 

Because Emma hasn’t had very many homes either, he knows. Another of those kinships that brought them together, that made him admire her because she had always handled her heartache better than he could. One of the many things that made him love her, long before he’d ever had a dream of her feeling the same.

 

He knows that this, what he’s choosing, is important to her as well. He doesn’t just want the roof over his head, the sturdy floor boards that won’t shift under him in the harsh Maine storms. The building could move, could burn to the ground and become a new one, he doesn’t much care for location. No, this is about the home he wants to build. The woman standing behind him, shifting uncertainly as the ship moves beneath her, this is about her.

 

Killian is not a good man, it’s been centuries since he’s entertained the idea of himself as such. Emma wants him to believe otherwise, gods above she nearly manages when she’s whispering it against the skin of his throat. He’s spent too long as a pirate, though, much more time than he’d ever spent as a good man. Pirates, by their very nature, are creatures of material. They want desperately, _savagely_ , the things they can’t have.

 

And Killian has wanted, bloody hell, has he wanted so much. He’d wanted his revenge against the crocodile longer than nearly anything. He’d wanted the taste of Emma Swan against his lips long before she’d deemed him worthy of it. He’d wanted a chance at redemption, a way to make up for his many, so terribly many, past sins. Killian had wanted material things, the things his less than ideal childhood had denied him, things his service underneath a corrupt king had sullied the taste of.

 

Now, his wants have changed. There’s Emma, wringing her hands together as she watches him, whom he’d like to believe he has, in the same way she has him. There’s mornings, waking up to the gentle press of her lips, the smell of her ingrained in the pillow next to his. There’s the spare bedroom, dressed up for her boy to live in if he so chooses. There’s days and weeks and years spent at her side he wants so desperately.

 

That’s the home Killian wants, the one he’s willing to fight for, _has_ fought for.

 

“Aye, love, I know,” he assures her, soft smile on his features as he steps towards her. He catches hold of her hands, ceasing their nervous movements, and lifts one to his mouth. His lips dust over her knuckles, reminiscent of their long goodbye, but the gesture drips of hope now. The promise of moving forward. “I _want_ to, though.”

 

Emma’s answering smile is enough to make a worse man than himself change his ways. He’d ask, just to be certain, that this is what she wants as well. The old bits of insecurity creeping up his throat, forming the words, but Emma is stepping forward. She traps their hands between their bodies with her closeness and presses her lips easily to his. The words die in Killian’s throat, any unsureness about her feelings lost to the warmth of her kiss.

 

“You know,” she breathes as she pulls away, forehead pressing against his. Killian ducks into her, nose brushing against hers, and counts the freckles on her nose as she speaks. “The basement isn’t quite so, uh, _dungeon-y_ anymore.”

 

Her nose wrinkles endearingly as she cringes at the reminder, lines forming in the bridge and hiding the freckles from view. Killian kisses her because he can, a slow, lazy thing. She hums against his mouth, pushing him back by the collar of his jacket, just enough to finish her sentence.

 

“Maybe we could do something with it,” she continues, as if he hadn’t interrupted her in the first place. He feels more than sees her shoulders shift in a shrug. “We could move your desk down there.”

 

“It’s actually bolted down,” he explains, breaking away to wave at the piece of furniture. The legs curl under and the bolts are hidden beneath the desk, an easy detail to miss when you haven’t spent centuries behind the thing. “So as not to shift as the ship does.”

 

He’s reminded suddenly, of a cloaked Emma leading his past self towards that desk with a purpose in mind. How much he had wished, at the time, to revisit the idea with him an active participant in it. The urge strikes him now, when he’d actually be not only allowed, but encouraged to do it. It’s not what this moment is about, though, he reminds himself. There’s plenty of time for those thoughts, incredibly they have been gifted so much more time.

 

“Oh,” Emma frowns and he reaches for her again, fingers wrapping themselves in the tips of her blonde hair where it falls over her shoulder. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. We can do something with it, though, the basement. It’s a nice space, now that a magical sword isn’t being hidden down there.”

 

She blows past these reminders, as she always does, with a forced calm. Killian wishes to assure her that he doesn’t hold grudges, not with her. The he could never mean the things he’d said as he’d succumbed to the darkness within him, always resting somewhere within him. He _has_ assured her many times, in the same ways she’s tried to convince him he’s a good man, one worthy of the future she’s bestowed him with. A few short years ago, his only future had been his revenge and it would end there. One more salvation he has Emma to thank for. He wonders if she’ll ever stop saving him.

 

“Perhaps a new desk, then,” Killian suggests and she nods. “Or we’ll do something else with the space, make it something for ourselves.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes good naturedly, the jade disappearing behind her eyelids for a second while her lips twitch upwards in amusement. “Killian, you could make the basement your space, or whatever, if you want to. The whole house will be our space.”

 

“Exactly, Swan, the whole house,” he insists, earning an amused shake of her head. “Now, would you like to help me move my things or would you like to help me find a better use for this desk?”

 

She tilts her head at him, exasperation in the gesture even as her lips settle in a smirk. Something flashes in her eyes, though, and Killian is familiar enough with it to know his suggestion hasn’t gone ignored. They’re enough in each other’s space still that he can see the way she straightens, shoulders squaring as if he’s issued a challenge rather than a teasing comment. He wonders if, perhaps, he’s unknowingly done both.

 

“I assure you, anything I could come up with for that desk,” she breathes. The sound, low and rough, makes heat stir in his stomach and his heart kick into a staccato rhythm. Killian straightens as well, now, recognizing this as well. “You couldn’t handle it.”

 

Killian doesn’t answer this time, doesn’t challenge her in response. He doesn’t wait for her before pressing his lips to hers, heated and desperate, his hand tangling in her hair. Emma lets out a breathless laugh against his mouth and he swallows it, pressing kisses to the corner of her mouth.

 

“I love you,” she says, on a delighted laugh, as his mouth trails down the column of her throat. His heart tightens, speeds up further at the words. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to them, hopes his responsiveness to her affections never fades. “We probably should move this stuff to the house, though.”

 

“What’s the rush, love?” Killian asks, teeth scraping against her skin. Emma sucks in a breath at the feeling, fingers fisting tightly in his hair and causing a sharp pain on his scalp. Her other hand curls in the lapel of his jacket and he wonders, in the parts of his mind still available for it, if they’d had this in Neverland, would he have ever been able to leave? “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

 

“Promise?” Emma asks, using her leverage on his jacket and in his hair to pull his mouth back to hers. He drags it, hot and insistent, over hers. His own hand cradles her jaw, thumb swiping lightly over the sharp bones of her cheek. The noise she makes into his mouth nearly has his knees giving out from underneath him as he swallows it, dives back in for more.

 

He twists them, leading her back towards the desk until her back presses against it. He’s careful, aware of the way it will press into her spine if he’s not gentle enough. Emma tugs him roughly to her though, unconcerned with the bruises they’re sure to create on her back. Killian gasps, attempts to catch his breath as she pulls away from him, trailing kisses down his neck as she pushes his coat off of his shoulders.

 

He catchers her chin between his fingers, halting her progress towards the open collar of his shirt. Emma raises an eyebrow at him as he lifts her face to meet his gaze. The green of her eyes is dark now, emerald hiding behind the black of her blown pupils. He doubts he looks much different, but he meets her eye as he says, “I promise.”

 

Emma’s confusion melts into a smile and she breaks out of his hold, returning her attentions to her previous path along his collarbone. “Good,” she breathes into his skin.

 

Killian has never known a home quite as beautiful as the one Emma Swan offers.

 


End file.
